Talent Terrace
by asper295
Summary: It's summer break for six gifted students. Each one is invited to Talent Terrace, a summer camp for child prodigies. Read as they find out there is more to life than their gift. AU. Canon pairings. Written by Evie the Great! Read and Review!
1. Background

**Stephanie Meyer owns the rights to all of the characters. **

Background Information:

Talent Terrace is a summer camp for teenage prodigies. No matter what your talent is playing an instrument, singing, technology, art, playing sports, acting, dancing, writing, etc. Talent Terrace has it all but only the best of the best are allowed in. Including the teachers who are brilliant in the subject at hand. Many of the teachers have a career in the subject and are well known throughout the particular country. In fact most teachers attended the camp themselves at age sixteen.

Scouts are positioned all over the world and are highly knowledgeable upon the subject that they are scouting child prodigies for. These scouts search prestigious school, competitions, well know families' children, and occasionally will hold interview on a special request looking for child prodigies.

This highly respected camp's name is a common household name but remains very exclusive. The public knows little about the camp but everyone knows that if you are accepted to this camp you are guaranteed a place in that career when you grow up. Colleges almost immediately accept the students who have attended this camp, as seen on their resume, as these children are destined to do great things. This camps location is a secret to all but those who enter the camp. Once there the teens must take an oath and sign a contract stating that they will keep the whereabouts a secret. Who knows what could happen to the kids if people knew where the most brilliant minds in the country were?

In order to enter this camp you must be brilliant in your certain position. Sixteen is the minimum age to enter this camp. Whether you are dirt poor or filthy rich Talent Terrace will find you if you are gifted in a particular field. The government is closely connected with these camps so if the child cannot pay their fees it is covered. There is at least one or more Talent Terrace summer camps located in each major country of the world. So throughout the world scouts are stationed looking for the people who make society what it is today, the people who will go down in history.

The Talent Terrace in America had just accepted Rosalie Hale, Jasper Hale, Edward Masen, Bella Swan, Emmett McCarty, and Alice Brandon into their camp. They were all sixteen, all brilliant in their own ways, and all passionate about their gift but they were about to learn that there was more to life then work.


	2. Rosalie and Jasper Hale

**Stephanie Meyer owns the rights to all of the characters.**

Rosalie Hale

I am Rosalie Hale and I live in Los Angles, California and I'm sixteen years old. I'm gorgeous; ask anyone and all of my life boys have drooled over me. I have a twin named Jasper. We're twins so you'd expect us to do everything together but we are extremely different and Jasper would rather spend his time with our younger sister Evelyn then me. Why I still don't know. My family is fairly rich due to my parents being lawyers. They both went to respectable colleges and then Harvard Law School where they met and fell in love.

Being successful themselves my parents push me to my full extent. They made me take up an instrument at a young age, I chose the violin and I've been playing the instrument ever since I can remember. I don't love it but it's something I'm good at besides being a pretty face and I want people to remember me as brilliant as well as stunning. Not to mention my parents are proud and stay off my back. I get almost everything I want but as the saying goes money doesn't buy you happiness.

I don't really have any friends. I mean, all of the boys chase after me and all of the girls want to be me but they aren't truly my friends. I have come to the conclusion that jealousy plus adoration equals no friends. The only person that I really have is my friend Edward. He is the first boy I met who didn't gasp at the sight of my perfect, flowing blond hair, my bright blue eyes, or my curvy body. Edward is my age, plays the piano and is also brilliant at playing. We met at band camp two years ago and hit it off. Me being first chair and he being the best pianist means we had a lot to talk about by ways of music. I can tell Edward anything and he'll listen, like a true friend. I've never told Edward how much he helps me and how he's the only person I will call or text when something goes wrong. I can't lose him and I'm afraid something like that will scare him away.

Although I have been with more boys then I can count I've never been in love. After reading many sappy love stories I realized that I have never felt the fireworks. I have never cared so much about someone that I would sacrifice everything I have including myself just for him to be happy. You can't buy love and this is one of the few things my life lacks.

My acceptance to Talent Terrace was not surprising. Scouts had come to my school in Los Angles as well as my violin school, Strings with Harmonies. I am first chair at both schools and five scouts had asked me to fill out a form with my name, address, talent, etc. My parents were absolutely thrilled and boasted how they knew all along I was special and never doubted my abilities. I ready for the competition and hoping to make friends along the way.

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Jasper Hale

My name is Jasper Hale, I am sixteen, and I live in Los Angles, California with my twin sister, Rosalie, my younger sister, Evelyn, and my parents, Eray and Aidan.

My dad, Eray, went to Stanford and then Harvard Law School. My mom, Aidan, went to UCLA and once graduated moved on to Harvard Law School. Both of my parents are respected lawyer and have been called the "dynamic duo." Due to their large portion of fame my family and I are quite well off, often being called the little rich kids.

Our parents push us to our extent always insisting that we can do better. When I was young my parents insisted that I learn to play a musical instrument. I chose the flute while Rose, my twin, chose the violin. I tried as hard as possible practicing for hours upon end until my fingers throbbed but to no avail. When our private tutors would enter and hear me play they would demand to know why I had not practiced. Rosalie would then perform a flawless, advanced piece on her violin even though she had practiced for a fraction of the time. I was furious. I tried as hours turned into days and days turned into months. I knew how to read music, I could move my fingers to the correct keys, and could blow into the flute but when I put these components together it turned into a mess. My parents refused to believe it was my fault blaming the tutors. On the thirteenth tutor my parents sat me down and asked why I wasn't trying. I tried to tell them that I was trying but they didn't believe me. They assumed that it must be the flute and that I would play another instrument better. I went through the clarinet, trumpet, French horn, tuba, cello, piano, oboe, base, saxophone, drums, and violin (in hope to lead by Rosalie's example) but I failed at each and everyone.

My parents were enraged! One night after dinner they mentioned how Rosalie had recently placed first at a recital and said if I put my mind to it I certainly was capable of what she was. That was it. I had had enough. I snapped.

"I AM NOT ROSALIE!" I screeched. "FOR THE LAST TIME, I HAVE NO MUSICAL TALENT! I HAVE BEEN THROUGH SIXTY-THREE TUTORS AND ELEVEN INSTRUMENTS! I WORK MY FINGERS TO THE BONE AT LEAST FIVE TIMES HARDER THAN ROSALIE! I CANNOT PLAY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS! WHY CAN'T YOU ACCEPT THAT I AM NOT PERFECT? I HAVE FAULTS! THIS HAPPENS TO BE ONE OF THEM!" By the time I had finished my breathing was rugged, my chest was heaving up and down and I was blinking back tears. Everyone's jaws had dropped to the ground.

My mother quickly snapped out of it and hissed. "Jasper be reasonable. We are only trying to do what's best for you. Colleges only accept the best of the best these days. If you play a musical instrument leading colleges say that they are more likely to accept you!"

"NO! YOU ARE TRYING TO DO WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU! I HAVE A 4.3 FOR GOD SAKE! I AM THE STAR OF THE TRACK TEAM AND BASKETBALL TEAM! ALL OF MY TEACHERS ARE WILLING TO WRITE ME LETTERS OF RECOMMENDATIONS APPLYING TO THEIR SUBJECT! I DO NOT NEED TO PLAY AN INSTRUMENT!" I thundered.

"DON'T USE THAT TONE WITH YOUR MOTHER!" howled my father. "THIS IS MY HOUSE AND YOU WILL GO BY MY RULES! IF WE THINK THAT YOU SHOULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT SO HELP ME YOU WILL!"

"THEN MAYBE I SHOULD MOVE OUT ON THE STREETS AND BECOME A HOBO!" I replied.

"YES, BECOME A STREET PERFORMER!" My mother wailed sarcastically. "OH WAIT, YOU CAN'T PLAY AN INSTRUMENT!"

"WELL I'LL CROSS THAT OFF OF MY FUTURE CAREER OPTIONS LIST!" I hollered back.

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" bellowed my father.

"GLADLY!" I shot back.

I stormed upstairs and banged my door closed; my parents always hated that. I threw myself onto my bed and tried listening to my iPod but I could hear the numerous instruments I have tried in the background, which resulted in me throwing my iPod across the room. I stopped at my cluttered desk and grabbed a piece of white computer paper. I would doodle. That always calmed me down. I began to draw and let my thoughts wonder. When I was finished I looked down at my work. The scene was of the sea, which was angry. A monstrous wave towered over a small fishing boat. That was when I realized that I was the fishing boat and that wave was all of the challenges I was facing. I sighed, signed my name in the bottom right corner and dated the work. I reached over and grabbed my blue folder where I would keep anything I drew. I heard a slight tap on the door and curtly muttered "Leave me alone."

"Please, can I come in Jazz." said a sweet bell like voice which I knew was my sister, Evelyn.

I sighed. "Kay, come on."

She opened the door slowly and slipped inside. She stared at me with her bright, innocent, sincere, blue eyes and I knew that she was genuinely sorry for me. Evelyn was bubbly and quite the comedian. She was slightly crazy but had a lot of loyal friends. She had blond hair and bright blue eyes, a trait that every one of the Hale children seemed to posses. Evelyn was the only person in my family that really understood me. She was one of my best friends as I was one of hers. We had always been close and although I knew that Rose would never admit it she was resented that.

I thought back to a time when we were eleven.

Flashback

It was a warm summers day and Evie and I were looking up at the sky pointing out shapes.

"That one looks like a guy with glasses, one foot, and horns." Evie buzzed.

We laughed for minutes and pointed out a few other shapes.

"I'm going to get some water. Want anything Evie?" I asked her.

"No I'm good Jazz." she sighed.

"Kay, be back in a sec."

I entered our house to find Rose fuming in the corner.

"What are you doing with her?" she asked wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Why? Are you jealous?" I questioned.

"No." She snapped back a little to quickly.

"Okay . . . do you want to join us?"

"I, unlike you and it, have better things to do then point out men with no feet that reside in the sky." Rose flashed a sweet smile which I knew all too well as her smile when she got underwear for Christmas.

"Were you listening to us?" I smirked.

"You – I –but – she – it – I have to go." With that Rose frolicked out of the room.

End Flashback

I snapped out of my trance and heard Evie mutter "whoa."

"What . . ." I cut myself off when I found Evelyn shuffling threw my blue folder.

"Jazz these are . . . wow." Evie concurred a look of awe on her face.

"Stop." I asserted curtly grabbing the folder.

"Jazz those are brilliant. I'm sure if you showed those to mom and dad they would drop the whole instrument thing . . ." she trailed off.

"Look Evie, you and I both know that mom and dad would never let me do something I actually like-"

She cut me off. "Jazz, listen. You love drawing, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"You're good at it, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"You have a future in this, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing Jazz. If you love it and are marvelous at drawing do it! You have a dream so chase it! Nothing can stop you!"

I opened my mouth to speak but she got there first.

"Not even mom and dad. The only person in your way is you. You have to want it Jazz."

"Evelyn Mary Hale!" My mother cried out.

"Oh no, got to go Jazz. But remember what I said." With that said, Evie sprinted down stairs.

That was the day I knew that I was going to become an artist. I entered art classes at school and went to after school classes too. I entered competitions winning many and the subject of my inability to play a musical instrument was dropped.

Scouts from Talent Terrace showed up at a countless number of competitions I entered. After winning a $10,000 scholarship at the art festival in Chicago I was presented with a letter from Talent Terrace. I opened it and found out they had accepted me into their summer camp. I was shocked to say the least. Talent Terrace . . . wow. Many people had told me that I was an incredible artist and I had won many art competitions but Talent Terrace only accepted the best of the best.

Unlike Rosalie I was not as . . . hubris. I did not brag about my acceptance or find great relish in telling others how brilliant I was. My parents were literally beaming; it was quite a rare occurrence to have one member of the family attend this highly respected camp never mind two of them.

Well, here goes nothing. Literally.

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**Okay. Thanks for reading the story so far, and make sure you review! :)  
**

**Next chapter I will do two more characters and their backgrounds! I'm thinking Edward and Emmett but review and tell me if you would rather me do Alice and/or Bella!!  
**

**Thanks all!!!**

**3 Evie  
**


	3. Alice Brandon

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. *sigh***

Alice Brandon

My name is Alice Brandon and I live in New York City, New York. I have always been happy and energetic. It's just my personality. Life's no fun without happiness! :)

I have always been pretty popular. I'm a very social person, I've been involved in more clubs, dances, and activities then I can count so almost everyone knows who I am some way or another. I want to be involved, to be remembered. I don't think that life is worth living if you don't have a positive affect on the world. It doesn't have to be something big, but if you just make someone happy that's helping, doing good.

My best friend is Zafrina. She's from somewhere in the Amazon. She was adopted and brought over to New York by her parents. She has always been different but I guess that's why I love her so much. She isn't like those fake, stupid flirts that cascade around the school like they own it and bating their eyelashes at every boy within 500 yards. She is one of the smartest people I know. She is absolutely brilliant in every subject, but especially math. In 8th grade she started to take AP Calculus! I don't think I would've passed a lot of high school classes without her.

My mother's name is Jennifer and my father's name is Frank. My brother is seven years older than me; his name is Laurence. Laurence and I have never really close. The age difference always kept us apart, not to mention how different our personalities are. He has jet-black hair, and hazel eyes with flecks of green that you could get lost in framed with long, thick eyelashes. He has high cheekbones a perfectly angled face. He's muscular from all of the baseball he plays and is in one word gorgeous. He could get any girl to crumble to his feet and knows it. Laurence is and always will be arrogant and sure of him. He's not loud, just obnoxious, but if he wants to get a girlfriend than puts on a he's shy, sweet, and sensitive facade that I've seen to many times before.

He has always thought that bubbly, energetic people like me were annoying. We never really talked to each other or spent time with each other but we loved each other because we were family. The only time I can think of when I shared a joyous moment together was when we went skiing and had a snowball fight, we had a timeshare in Alaska and went every winter break. I was seven and he was fourteen at the time.

Flashback

I was walking back from the skiing for five hours that day and sharp pains cut through me with eat jolt of movement. The wind bit at my face, the only part of my body that was not covered in damp clothing. It had been snowing earlier but I was enjoying myself too much to stop. Wrong choice, my legs now screamed at me! I heard someone else trudging in the snow behind me but it would hurt too much to turn around. Suddenly something smacked me right in between my shoulder blades. I could feel how cold it was even through my six layers of clothing.

I whipped around hopping to catch the culprit. I gasped when I saw my brother, Laurence, standing tossing a snowball in the air, smirking. How dare he have the audacity!

"You just threw a snowball at me!" I yelled accusingly.

"So . . . what are you going to do about it?" he answered rather smugly.

I gasped. "What's that?" I asked pointing behind him. He's always been gullible, I thought to myself. He turned around and I immediately and I grabbed some snow, balled it up in my hand, and threw it at him. It hit him in the stomach.

"That." I answered. He gaped at me. I could see the emotions anger and amusement flirt across his face. His mouth hung open, shocked by his seven year old cunning sister.

"Whatcha doing? Catching flies?" I asked him.

He closed his mouth and began to launch snowballs at me. I, of course, took action and began to fight back. The pain was totally forgotten. We called a truce and both came back to the house dripping wet, laughing.

End Flashback

Things became, different as the years went on. My brother decided that after college he wanted to see the world and buy his own boat. He had always like sailing. My parents and him had gone over the argument about a million times, my parents stating that he must settle down, get a good job and start a family and my brother proclaiming that they would never once do anything on a whim, have an adventure.

In the end my parents won the argument, threatening to disown my brother and take away all of his possessions. I thought that was cruel but I couldn't do anything about it. I was in 9th grade for goodness sake!! I always wanted to be close to Laurence, I wanted an older brother someone I could talk to. Someone to help me through my day but he had enough problems and didn't care for me as I did for him.

Laurence was good at science and worked as a marine biologist, specializing in whales. I've never seen anyone work harder than him. He saved up money by doing spare jobs and working part time in the local mall. When my parents asked him what he was going to do with his savings he replied that he would buy a house of his own some day.

I was absolutely heartbroken when he ran away. He had been working like crazy for about eight months. He had bought a boat the week before, to out surprise and gathered up his possessions in the middle of the night and left.

I was crushed, to say the least. I barely slept, ate, or drank anything for a week. I even had to go to a therapist because my parents were concerned for my mental health. This pissed me off. Who wants to go to a person whose title is the/rapist? Honestly?

After much debate and bribery about two weeks later I went to a shrink. He told me to do find a hobby that would become my positive outlet to my emotions. I tried reading but every book we had but every plot I could relate to Laurence in some way. I pulled out his favorite book, _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ by Beatrix Potter, I never understood why he liked that book but he was always claiming that it was a magical book that could make you forget your troubles. I had nothing to lose so I opened the book with a shaky had and tears flowing freely down my face. A letter envelope fell out with big blue letter on the front that read: Alice Brandon. I knew that hand writing, Laurence's handwriting. I flipped the letter open to find his wax seal, LB, it was his way of telling me if mom and dad had read this yet. It was still intact so I quietly made my way back to my room and ripped it open.

Dearest Alice,

By the time you open this letter I'll probably be sailing around the world. Do not worry, I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself. I love you and although we were never close I'm sorry I have to leave you alone with two sorry excuses for parents. Work hard in school like me so you can move out and do something with your life. I'll be sending you letters from my adventure, if you want to talk write back as soon as possible because I'll probably only be there for three to five days. The letters will be at the place where I go when I'm feeling down. (If this is mom and dad good luck finding it you don't know anything about me! If this is Alice I know you'll get it, think hard.) A friend of mine will be delivering them. (If these are the two people that by law are my called my parents don't interrogate my friends, I have too many) If this is you Alice, don't tell mom and dad, please Al, you know they'd just call the police to catch me and haul me back to the place they call home. But it's not home to me Alice; it has never felt safe, I don't know what home feels like but I'm sure it's not my feelings toward that place. I have places to be people to meet! I'm finally living life! Be happy, I am.

Love Always,

Laurence

XOXO

My entire body began shaking with sobs. Emotions flooded throughout my entire body. Happiness, he loved me, anger, he ran away, sorrow, he left me, joy, he was going to write to me, glee, he went through all of that trouble for me, and finally I settled on depression, I knew I wasn't going to see him for a long time.

I don't know how long I sat there rereading the letter, crying, smiling, laughing, and throwing things across my room. I do know that if my therapist would have been there I would have been locked in a sponge room with a straight jacket on for quite some time.

After putting the letter in a safe place I decided to go out. I went to the wishing well in Central Park, about fifteen minutes away from our house by foot. I knew that was where Laurence went whenever he was upset. He'd always wish for something better to happen. I wheeled up the bucket to find nothing but a note pinned to the bottom of the rope. It wasn't in Laurence's handwriting but read:

Pink is his favorite color.

What am I suppose to do with that I thought to myself. Pink. Pink. I looked around the wishing well to see a pink board lined up with the other boards that were around the base of the well. I gently removed the pink board to find a small cubby.

Inside was a note and an envelope. I picked up the note first.

Alice,

I haven't got much time but congrats on finding this. I knew you could do it. Take this letter and the many more to come and write me back if you want. If mom and dad find out send me a letter telling me. If they are now screening your letters write it in red and I'll stop sending them. I love you.

- Laurence

The letter came next. It was from Cuba. He told me what a great time he was having and how he was living his dream. I felt good for him but horrible on the inside. I know he didn't think this through. What if he ran out of money? What if something happened to him? My stomach was doing flips. Some things just didn't add up. Did he really love me? He set this entire thing up, but why? He never gave me the time of day but now he goes through great lengths just to talk to me. He could be so frustrating sometimes.

I poured my heart and soul out into those letters. Often using four sheets of paper. In return I got crummy responses to each of my questions and his current location. I was upset to say the least but at least I could keep in touch with him and know that he was okay.

This lasted for about six months. I stopped seeing a shrink and my parents never mentioned Laurence's name again. Trying to convince themselves that it was some kind of bad memory.

Six months and four days from the day Laurence left dad had a heart attack. It was so sudden, there were no warning signs, all of the doctors said he was in perfect health. He was rushed to the hospital but it was to late, he was gone. The doctors all said it was a freak accident and no one saw it coming. I immediately caught a bus home and began to write a letter to Laurence. My usually four-page letter was surprisingly short. I had just sent him a letter the previous day and knew he was in Spain. I still remember word for word what I wrote.

Laurence,

Something terrible has happened. Dad had a heart attack and he's dead, gone, passed away. Mom and I are heart broken. The doctors all say it was some kind of freak accident. Please Laurence, I'm begging you, getting down on my hands and knees, come home. You'll have to come back eventually and now is a perfect time. Please, we need you. I need you. I know you and dad never got along but he's your father for god sake! Come back, please.

Love,

Alice

I ran to the post office and with the little hope I had left I sent the letter. Two days later I got his response.

Alice,

I can't. I'm so sorry. Good luck with life.

Love,

Laurence

Tears cascaded down my face. He could, I know he could. But he didn't want to. He was being the selfish, arrogant person I always thought him to be. He wasn't my brother, no, he wasn't even a friend. He was a bad memory from now on.

I tried to get my mind off of him by doing something, anything else so I decided to do some homework. I was taking a design class and we had to turn in a dress in two weeks for the "Creative Parade" not a very creative name if you ask me. I grabbed my sketch notebook filled with blank pages. I had always loved fashion, but nothing seemed to inspire me these days. I stole a quick glance at the letter from Lau-him. I was still crying but silently, not making a noise.

I noticed the sprinkle of tears lying haphazardly on the letter and inspiration struck me. I quickly drew up a long cascading dress that had no straps but laced down trailing on the ground. I placed a long thick dark blue ribbon just below the bust and royal blue gemstones that ranged from the size of a penny to a quarter below the ribbon all of them in no particular order. The long gray never ending fabric was the letter and the blue gems were my tears. The garment was beautiful, stunning but seemed to push a wave of sadness through you at the same time. I worked long and hard, trying to make it perfect and get my mind of the series of unfortunate events that had taken place. I named it "Hopeless" and entered the piece for my grade and in the parade. I got an A+ with outstanding attached to the sheet and got the 1st place ribbon at the parade.

I was shocked to find out that the parade then took me to the county designer contest called "Belle Jour" where I stole first with the same garment. I was ecstatic! I finally had something to be happy about! From this competition I went to the state competition where I found out I needed to make another garment.

I work long and tediously on a bright yellow sundress that fell just before the knees. It had a long, thick band of bright orange ribbon before the bus and matching orange frills lining the short sleeves and hem. It was perfect! This piece I called "Hope."

My mother seemed to turn into a completely different person when my father died. She was loving and sweet and seemed cold and distant. When she discovered that I had won many of these fashion competitions she was ecstatic with me! She didn't completely recover but that was the closest she had come to since dad died.

I was so nervous on the day of the state competition. What if they didn't like it? What if they laughed at my designs? This competition was very different than the others. There were two models assigned to each aspiring designer. The competition only allowed designers from ages sixteen to twenty-one. We all drew numbers and I was number four, I heard my name go on over the loud speaker " . . . designs by Alice Brandon . . ." that was their cue. The models walked by as I watch the judges with awe.

I was ready to win! My designs were the best and I had a feeling I would win! They were just about to announce the third place winner. "Third place goes to Taylor Parker!" All of the designers clapped politely but were waiting their moment to shine. "Second place goes to . . . Alice Brandon!" I was forlorn but put on my brave face and accepted my trophy. How could I come in second? After the awards ceremony I locked myself in a broom closet and cried, let it all out.

About half an hour later one of the girls who modeled for me found me.

Flashback

I was too distracted to see the doorknob slowly turning; salty tears stung my eyes and distorted my vision.

Nadia, the girl I recognized as one of my models stepped in, closed the door and sat down next to me. She had long dark silky hair that stopped just before her shoulders. She was medium height and extremely skinny.

"How did you get in here?" I asked shakily, turning away from her.

"Bobby pin." she answered shrugging.

There was an awkward silence before she hugged me and whispered, "You did your best."

"But it wasn't good enough." I proclaimed, pushing her away.

"Maybe not, but it's all that you can do."

"You don't understand, I'll never be good enough."

"No you don't understand!" Nadia huffed standing up now. "That was the best damn dress I've ever modeled, maybe even worn and I've been modeling for seven years! It was clearly the best dress out there!

"The judges thought that Lauren's dress was better." I glared at her.

"So what if the judges didn't like it as much as Lauren's! TO HELL WITH THE JUDGES!! What matters is if you liked it! The next set of judges you'll have might love it! You have five weeks until you go to the country and you are not going to come up empty handed!"

"Wait . . . what!?"

"The part about to hell with the judges or that you have five weeks until country competition?"

"Country competition? But I didn't win."

"Thanks Captain Obvious. The top two from each state enter the competition. That's where it got it's nickname the _Happy Hundred_."

"OH MY GOSH!!" I squealed jumping for joy and hugging Nadia, "Well . . . there's no time to waste!"

"Call me if you need anything. Here's my card," Nadia smiled.

"Of course. You'll be the first one to see all of my designs! And . . . thank you."

"Don't mention it. Remember, never give up, never surrender," she replied while leaving the closet.

End of Flashback

It was a strenuous five weeks in which I had to prepare another five garments to display. The directions were simple: make five garments without anyone else's help and they must represent a theme. The two pieces previously displayed must be in the theme.

Oh god. What am I going to do for a theme?! Hope and hopeless. What else fits into that category?! Sure I can change the name but I can't change the pieces!! I was so stressed I had forgotten about Laurence and my father and had once again resumed pacing around my room biting my nails in the process.

I'm not usually klutzy but I turned and caught the edge of a stack of papers. I had never been neat but I know where everything is. "Oh, shoot." I muttered. Wait, what was this. I glanced at the papers, biology tests, fashion magazines, sewing books (from my sewing stage), and letters. Wait . . . letters? Laurence's letters. Yes, I had kept them. I reread them, I didn't want to but I did. Like a damn being broken inside of me emotions flooded through, I had been keeping a wall up. I rethought all of my emotions when I had received his letters.

Just then inspiration hit me in the head like a dodge ball thrown by that fat kid that no one likes. **(A/N: Dal and I both love this line!!) **I finally discovered inspiration, what my theme would be. Emotions. Each letter contained a powerful emotion: love, hate, confusion, depression, joy, and despair. I quickly set to work using each letter as a guide for my designs.

My favorite design is confusion. It took me so long to get the right look for the dress. In the end I made a simple, close-fitting white dress with three-inch sleeves. I bought all of the prime colors in paint and like in the great pieces of art I took my paintbrush and threw paint at it. I love it; it's truly a piece of art.

On the day of the country competition I was so nervous. I knew I was ready for this and Nadia assured me that my designs were flawless but that didn't ease the pulling knots in my stomach. I worked day and night to get to this stage and knew that my fate rested on the shoulders of the judges and their opinion.

The day seemed to pass in a blur. I watched my models fly across the runway, Nadia amiss them, and gallivant back. The other designers displayed their work and before I knew it it was time for the results.

They lined fifty of us up in a row and ordered twenty-five to step forward.

" . . . Alice Brandon, please step forward . . ." I wasn't even aware of what I was doing but my body stepped forward automatically, my body shaking in apprehension.

"The front row . . . congratulations you're through, the back row, I'm sorry it's the end of the road for you." Tears of elation and defeat rang through the halls. I stood there, frozen with shock. My designs, they liked them, they wanted them, and I was good enough. I snapped out of it and was ushered into a room of fifty others who had also made the cut, all equally as tense as me.

One by one we were called to go into a room alone with the judges. It was alphabetical and being a "B" I knew I would be one of the first. I was fourth.

"Brandon, Alice," a lady with bleach blonde hair chirped out. I nodded and made my way down the ever-lasting hall until I reached the last door, took a deep breath and went inside.

"Brandon, Alice?" A lady with long, curly brown hair asked me.

"Yes, that's me." I answered meekly.

"Ah, the emotion theme. Creative. You have major potential to become a famous designer one-day. These dresses were phenomenal. I especially took interest on your dress labeled "confusion" tell me about that."

"Well . . . I worked long and hard on each of my designs but this one I also seem to favor." The lady smiled and nodded. "I remembered going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art last year on a school field trip and how artists threw paint of their art work and ran tires in the paint, it was so abstract and it was all very confusing to me and . . . ugly. I thought that if I combined bright, prime colors I could make this attempted artwork beautiful. It took a couple or trial and error pieces but I finally got it in the end."

"Okay," the lady chirped and began to shuffle through some papers "If you were to win this competition where would you go from there?"

"Well . . . I would try my very best to start my own shop and from there my own line. I would promote the fact that I had the title and make designs that would blow your mind! I know I can do it, I just need a chance." I began to slowly gain confidence the longer I was in there.

The lady asked me a few more questions such as what other views I have on designing, my experience, and where I would seek inspiration.

"Well . . . I think that our time is about up Ms. Brandon. We will be contacting you via phone within this next week and tell you if you are in our top ten."

I nodded, muttered quick thanks, and left the room.

I don't think I slept a wink that next week, eagerly awaiting my call. Standing over the phone protectively and circling it like a vulture.

A week from that day the phone rang. "I'LL GET IT!!!" I screamed. I picked it up on the second ring and answered a breathless.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is there an Alice Brandon there?"

"Speaking." I replied in a shaky tone this was the call; I could feel it.

"Yes, are you interested in the sheers 2000?"

"What?" I asked unsure now.

"It's the finest cutlery out there. Can cut through a penny, in fact-"

I cut him off. "I'm sorry I'm not interested and I'm waiting for a very important so good day to you."

I was steaming, furious, ready to beat that man into a pulp. Wait . . . what if they called while I was talking to him? What if I made the top ten but they think I'm not dedicated enough if I can't even leave the phone line open and I won't make it. What if they never bother to call me? What if they think that it's my loss if I don't care enough to keep the phone line open?

My panic was cut short when I heard another ring omit from the telephone.

I picked it up and shakily asked, "Hello?"

"Hello, may I please speak with Ms. Alice Brandon."

"Speaking." I said once again.

"We are calling to inform you of your position in the Country Design Competition."

I froze. This was it. "Yes . . ."

"Congratulations. You are in their top ten and will be-"

But I didn't hear the rest. I screamed and began to dance around the kitchen. ME!!!! THE TOP TEN DESIGNERS IN THE U.S.A!!!! I began laughing when I saw the phone that had slipped from my grasp when I was told the exciting news.

"Ms. Brandon? Ms. Brandon?" I heard on the other line.

"I'm soooo sorry. I was just so caught up in the moment and-"

I was cut off by the lady laughing. "That's quite alright. We'll be sending you an invitation in the mail to our party where we will announce the winner!"

"Thank you so much!" I shrieked.

"Goodbye Ms. Brandon."

"Goodbye." I set down the phone and ran to tell my mother the good news.

Sure enough the invitation soon came and I designed my own dress to the party as well as my mother's who tagged along claiming she wouldn't miss it for the world.

The evening passed in a blur, there was so much to take in. Finally, the lady with long curly brown hair, the one who interviewed me tapped her class and all chatter and music ceased.

"Thank you all for coming here tonight! I would like to thank all of the caterers and party organizers but especially our judges!"

This statement was met with polite clapping.

She continued. "Our designers here tonight have so much potential and have displayed some impressive designs. It all comes down to this moment, right now. Everyone in our top ten are here tonight and have worked so hard to get here. So congratulations for getting this far. These are the best designers in the nation! Good luck to all of you!"

A young, cute man with sandy blond hair stood up. He looked in his early twenties and held an air of sophistication. He was slender and stylish. From his clothes he looked rich. He was gorgeous to say the least and could be a model himself. One of the ladies from stage crew handed him a microphone and batted her eyelashes at him. He smiled in a fashion that would take your breath away. I recognized him as another judge.

"I know this line is so clichéd but I've always wanted to say this. And now for the results you've all been waiting for . . ." The audience laughed and a drum roll began. A feeling of nervousness began to set in my stomach.

"In third place . . . Matthew Goldstone." Cheers and applause echoed through the large building. Once that settled down the man continued. At this point I was shaking with anticipation. "In second place . . . Jeshia Monrowl." He muttered butchering her name like a substitute would. I laughed shakily and noticed that my mother's hand was on my shoulder. I looked at her and gave her and she gave me comforting squeeze. Butterflies seemed to permanently reside in my stomach these days.

"And in first place . . . Ms. . . Alice Brandon." Me, me, wait . . . me? I froze and vaguely felt my mother collapse into sobs and crush me into a hug. A feeling of warmth erupted through me. Hot tears seemed to cascade down my face as I made my way up to the stage. Balloons, confetti and cheers surrounded me. The judges, each whispering congratulations in my ears, hugged me. I was handed a trophy as big as myself, flowers, and a letter.

The man with sandy hair began talking again. "Well, first of all I would like to congratulate Ms. Brandon for her outstanding effort." The mob cheered. "She has won $40,000 to start her own line and the title of _Best Designer in the Nation_! As always there is always a twist." My heart skipped a beat. A twist? Was I going to have to design more garments. Was this some type of cruel _You've Been Punked _episodes? Were they going to say "Just kidding" and announce the real winner?

"Along with these fabulous prizes it also comes with a letter." He motioned to my hands. "This letter is an acceptance to Talent Terrace!" The crowd as well as I gasped. Talent Terrace? The school for the best of the best? The rest of his speech was unheard as the idea run through my mind.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Wow, I had been dubbed best designer in the states and was now going to a school for geniuses. I smiled so much my face hurt.

I know I'm broken, but fashion is fixing me.

**WHOO! thanks for reading this great chapter written by, Evelyn. This is dahlia here of course, posting this for her. We would greatly appreciate it if you guys reviewed. Leave comments, praise, or even suggestions. So remember to review, and thanks always,**

**Dahlia, Evelyn, and Ava**


	4. Emmett McCarty

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all. **

**What a shocker...**

Emmett McCarty

My name is Emmett McCarty. I am sixteen years old and I live in the Florida Keys. To me there is no better place to live. The Keys are hot, thank god (I can't stand the cold), and flooded with water. You grow up to love nature as you are sharing your home with the creatures that reside there. I love the Keys. I've lived there my entire. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. I think I would miss the Keys too much. First of all, you know everyone in the town and everyone is so friendly, you're never alone, it's like one big family. In the Keys, there is always something to do from fishing, to kayaking, to playing football with friends. Most of all I would miss the peace of the River of Eden. My river. Well, I guess it's not my river but I'd like to think so. When I was six I went out for a hike and came across a beautiful river containing crystal clear water and the most colorful assortment of fish I've even seen. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Flashback

I pulled back yet another tree. Where I was going, well there was no destination, just away. Away from life, problems, people, drama, everything. I heard a faint trickling sound. What was that? I pondered the question and decided to go explore.

I'm the next great Christopher Columbus! I thought. We had just learned about him that day. 'Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492.' I laughed quietly to myself. Everything is funnier when it rhymes. The trickling noise was getting louder and was now more like a tap running. I pulled back the final branch among a rather large spruce tree.

Whoa.

There stood a river. Not just any river. This was the most beautiful river I had ever seen in my entire six years. This river held warm, clear blue water and multi-colored fish that darted to and fro. The water was moving at just the right pace, slowly moving, yet not completely still.

I compared the beauty of this river to the other things I'd seen. It was prettier than the eagle soaring through the air with its wings sprawled out and the feathers shining blindly in the air. It was prettier than the lithe step of the jaguar just before it was to pounce on it's pray. It captivated my eyes more than the purple fish that frolicked gaily among the countless creeks and banks I had fly fished in. No, this was no comparison. This river belonged in the Garden of Eden, we had just read about that in Bible Class two Sundays ago.

"Stupid Bible School." I muttered incoherently. "But, alas I have found a name for you, I dub the River of Eden." I spoke with great pride, talking to the river as if she was a human being.

End of Flashback

I still go to that river today. I still talk to the river like it were a friend because the river listens but will not tell any secrets, get me in trouble, but most importantly judge me for what I think or the way I have acted. Whenever I have a problem I pick myself up and carry myself to the river. There I sit on the edge on the river and think. I let my thoughts unravel by saying them aloud, organizing the inhabitants of my mind. Most of my worries drift down the river like the water itself. No one knows where I go when I'm angry, sad, or need to be alone but I'm always at my river. I've never told anyone about it because it's private; it's one of those things that is so precious that you want to keep it to yourself. I'm not usually a selfish person but just because the Keys is small it doesn't mean that it is without drama and pain. So when I want to escape it all I go to the river, my river.

I live in a moderate house, not that it matters I'm always outside, with my mom, dad, and sister, Dahlia. My mom, Diane, works as a nurse for the local hospital. I'm really close to her, she is the brightest person I know and has a solution to any problem I present to her. She has dark, straight brown hair with caramel brown eyes. She is petit and pretty, for a mom. She loves nature and knows almost everything about all of the species that inhabit these Keys. She has the best sense of humor you will ever see and her spirit makes you feel all-warm inside. She looks delicate and has a fragile laugh but she can be scary when she wants to be.

My father, Remus, works for as a kindergarten teacher. I know that sounds lame but it's actually really cool. All of the little kids adore you and worship the ground you walk on. They don't question you and will do exactly what you say; they only seek approval. My dad LOVES kids so his job isn't even a job for him. He's always quoting Confucius, "If you pick a job you love and stick to it you will never have to work another day in your life." My father has curly dark brown locks. His eyes are an extremely dark brown color that seems almost black, especially when he's mad. He has a great sense of humor too and a great booming laugh. He is really tall yet quite slim.

I have curly dark brown locks like my father but my eyes are caramel brown like my mom's. I have a pretty face and am popular but I'm known for my great sense of humor, which I get from both parents. I have a booming laugh like my dad's and am also good with kids. I have muscles, to say the least. I have broad shoulders and a big build from my dad's side of the family, specifically my grandfather.

My sister Dal has straight hair like my mom but it's dark brown in color, like my dad's. She has extremely dark brown eyes, which are almost black, and is short like Diane but strong like Remus. She doesn't make empty threats and always follows through on her promises. I'm not exceptionally close to Dal but we're not distant. We leave each other alone for the most part but can have deep heart to heart stuff too. Dal is an insomniac, I like being able to wake up at any point in the night and knowing she's awake too; she's with me.

Flashback

I pushed open the door to my parent's room; I hadn't seen my mother in three days. Tissues were placed haphazardly around the room. Untouched food remained scattered throughout the chamber and the bed's sheets were twisted and looked as thought it hadn't been slept in for days. The once warm, comforting forest green that lies on the walls sent off now dark, mysterious vibes. The pillows were lying on top of the dresser and many mementoes and pictures were smashed and torn-up. Clothes lie, obviously trampled, on the group. But, there, in the middle of it all was my mother. She was a ghostly pale white and had obviously lost weight. Her eyes were red and lined with tears while her clothes were recognizable to the last time I saw here, three days ago. Her hair was oddly askew and greasy. She sat, rocking on the ground with a single picture frame in hand. She held onto the picture for dear life and didn't even realize I had entered.

I cautiously approached her. I lay my hand on her shoulder. "Mom." I croaked.

She snapped out of it. She looked at me with a pained expression on her face. She carefully unwound her arms from the black picture frame and showed me a picture that I had seen so many times before. It was the picture that had been on her once clean white dresser. The picture contained my mother when she was fourteen and her brother, my uncle, Rob at sixteen. It was taken at Camp Geneva and my mother was laughing while getting a piggy back from Rob. Rob was smirking slightly and had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Dead." My mother choked out.

What? No! Rob couldn't be dead. My uncle, my mother's only brother. He was the best uncle. He always knew what to say and treated me like a son.

"No," I whispered and ran from the room. I fell onto my bed overcome with exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamed about coming into my mother's room, over and over again. I woke up sweating and exhausted. It was two o'clock in the morning and as much as I tried I couldn't fall back to sleep. I sighed and made my way down stairs. I flipped on the light to the kitchen only to find Dal staring deeply into her hot chocolate mug with a pained expression on her face. She glanced up at me and we just stared at each other for about twenty minutes strait. Finally, she broke the stare down by pushing a cup of steaming hot chocolate towards me that I only just noticed she had. She knew I was coming.

We didn't talk. I was glad that Dal wasn't one of those people who think that you need to fill every silence with words. We just sat there and drank our hot chocolate in silence. Not an uncomfortable, the I don't know what the hell to say next, kind of thing but a calming stillness, much like Rob's life now.

A few minutes in I asked her, "Why do people have to die?" She seemed surprise that I had spoken but then a contemplating look washed over her features. After a minute or two she spoke.

"To make life important." **(A/N: I can't remember what TV show this is from but I did not come up with this)**

"Why him?" I asked her in a whisper.

"Why not him?" she replied in a hushed tone.

"He never did anything wrong, sis, he was a good guy."

"Cancer doesn't care if he's a good guy. Cancer doesn't even know that he was a good guy. People die good and bad everyday Em, this person just happened to touch our lives. He was a good person Em but his time was up. Everything happens for a reason."

I sighed and went to go clean out the mug. I headed upstairs and fell into a dreamless sleep.

End Flashback

We never talked about that again. To this day Dal has never brought it up. It's a kind of mutual agreement we've made. We both know that we're there for each other. We can fight but we're there for each other when we need it most.

You see, all of these things I'm going to miss when I go to Talent Terrace this summer. Talent Terrace is a camp for "teenage child prodigies." I know that I should be honored to go there, blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all before. Honestly I think this camp is a camp for all of the kids who are obsessed at what they do and will do anything to get to the top. Freaks. Backstabbing, cheating, lying, self-centered, kiss-ass freaks. That's what they are. I for one refuse to become that and am relying solely on my talent to get me there.

Flashback

I made my way over to my next-door neighbor's house, the Carson's. I walked in and grabbed a coke from the fridge while calling "Yo, Mr. C you're out of Sprite!"

To anyone else this may seem weird but for me this was a regular day. Zach Carson and I were brothers. We fought but would do anything for each other.

"Emmett?" I heard Mr. C call.

"Sup, Mr. C?" I asked walking into the living room where he was currently sprawled out onto the couch watching a game of football. Mr. Carson was what I considered a cool dad. Don't get me wrong I love my dad, but he never watches television. If you ask him why he goes off on a huge rant about how it fries your brain and how many other productive things you could be doing. My dad likes to read, hike, and go over last minute lesson plans. He's a neat freak too, so there is always something for him to clean in his eyes. No, Mr. C was cool. He even set up a basketball hoop outside of their house and sometimes-even plays with Zach and I.

"Zach told me to tell you he's outside."

"Kay, catch you later!" I hollered running through the door.

One outside I found that Zach wasn't alone. Our friend Michel from down the block had also come over and they were throwing a football back and forth.

"Hey Em." Michel called.

"Hey guys." Michel passed me the football and it landed at my feet. I had never played football before, I was eight and my dad wasn't the athletic type. I picked up the ball and with both hands swung the ball down under my outspread legs and launched it towards Zach. Both Zach and Michel began rolling on the floor with laughter. Zach managed to choke out, "Good one, Em."

"Yeah." I smiled weakly. What do they mean _good one_? I think I threw it pretty far.

Once they had finished their rounds of laughter Zach threw a perfect spiral straight into Michel's arms and grinned. Oh. My. God. They want me to do that? Michel threw it to me and I barely caught it. I tried throwing like they did but the ball wobbled in the air only got halfway to Zach.

"Wait, Emmett. You . . . you can't play football?"

"Um, no." I admitted rather stupidly. Both of their mouths dropped to the floor. Zach was the first to recover. He ran inside. I internally sighed. He's not going to want to be my friend anymore is he. I turned to see Michel with his mouth still wide open. I was just about to head home when I heard the back door close and looked up to see Zach pulling his Dad along with him.

Once they reached me Zach spoke. "Dad, Emmett here can't play football so I think you, master of all things related to football, (Mr. C smirked here) should teach him."

"Course my boy. I think you'd make a good quarterback."

The rest of the day was spent teaching me the ropes and basics of football. We did drills and played two on two. At the end of the day we knocked on all of the neighborhood kid's doors and went down to the park to play seven vs. seven touch football. I had a blast! There wasn't a better time I had ever had.

End of Flashback

I told my dad about it and he looked into a local league. Zach, Michel, and myself all tried out for the local team and we all made it. It turns out I was better at football then I thought as I made the all-star team too.

Dal started playing soccer about the same time. She plays forward and was also known as a star on her team. Both Dal and I now play for the best team in the Keys. I'm on the team _The Titans_ and Dal is on _The Keys: Division 1_.

The Titans are good. It's not me bragging but a fact. We made it to the championships two out of the three times I've been on the team. I was team captain at age sixteen and ready to lead the team to the state finals. I know I was young, I still am. Younger than a lot of people on the team but I knew I could do it. We had a perfect season. We didn't lose one game and I scored the winning touchdown.

After I was given the game ball a scout came up to me and handed me a letter. The scout told me how they had kept an eye on me for a while and that Talent Terrace would be challenging but you can do it if you try. It turns out Zach also got a letter. Even after all of these years Zach and I were still best friends. I still yelled, "Yo, Mr. C you're out of Sprite!" and we still went knocking on the neighborhood doors' to see if they were up for a little touch football. Unfortunately Michel moved to Wyoming when we were thirteen. We kept in touch for a while, but it wasn't the same and soon Michel made new friends and both pushed each other to the side.

Dal was mad that she had to wait until she was sixteen to go to Talent Terrace. Her words exactly, "Wait. You made it in? That's not fair I'm better at soccer than you are at football but I have to wait for another three years!"

My response. "In a nutshell . . . yes."

So you see I could never leave the Keys. With Dal and her insomnia, the River of Eden, my parents, the way the pond smells, how someone is always there to talk to, and the football field at the back of the school. But I guess I'm going to have to this summer for Talent Terrace. Wish me luck; I'll probably need it.

**Hey - Please Review! constructive criticism, praise, etc..**

**ya know. thanks,**

**dal, evie, ava**


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